


to Live, to Die (inverse, together)

by CelestialSilences



Series: Ateez Storyline Event Fics [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst, Ateez Storyline Event Entry, Death, Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Resurrection, Short Sweet and Pretty, Yeosang is dead but also not really, a dash of hurt/comfort, and Jongho loves him very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25176499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialSilences/pseuds/CelestialSilences
Summary: Choi Jongho is seven when he loses the most important thing in his life, but he's not worried.Nothing can keep him from the person he loves most in the world.
Relationships: Choi Jongho & Kang Yeosang, Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang
Series: Ateez Storyline Event Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823908
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	to Live, to Die (inverse, together)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my Ateez Storyline event entry, which I'm cross-posting here for posterity. I'd love it if you'd go give that a comment/read too to help support it!!
> 
> (It's [here](http://ateez.kqent.com/bbs/board.php?bo_table=gevent&wr_id=4135)!)

Yeosang dies when Jongho is seven. 

When his parents sit him down and try to explain to him that his best friend is gone for good, he and his parents hit by a drunk driver on the way home from the movies, he listens to them quietly, nods solemnly when they’re done, and promptly heads to his room to figure out how he’s going to get Yeosang back.

Yeosang isn’t _gone;_ he can’t be, not when he’d promised to come over that weekend to play video games on Jongho’s family’s new TV. They’d sworn on his last birthday that they’d never leave each other, and Yeosang _never_ breaks his promises. If he can’t come back of his own volition, Jongho will just have to help him do it. 

This proves difficult for a number of reasons, the most limiting of which is the fact that he’s an elementary schooler who can’t even go to the convenience store by himself yet. Jongho does manage to research a variety of ghost summoning tactics, most of which seem quite dangerous and frankly impossible for a seven-year old to do, but commits them all to memory regardless. 

When he’s finally forced to admit that there’s no possible way for him to see Yeosang again right now, Jongho vows to reach out and find him the moment he’s old enough. In the meantime, he’ll just stay best friends with him until he can bring him home for good. 

It’s easy, at first- Jongho’s parents let him visit Yeosang’s grave as often as he likes, explaining to him that leaving flowers and even toys as gifts would be a nice, respectful thing to do. So every day he picks out a different toy of his and walks down to the graveyard, telling Yeosang about his day and eventually slipping into fantasy worlds of knights and pirates as he plays with his best friend by his side. Things stay mostly the same; though Jongho is unable to touch Yeosang anymore, just being near him is more than enough. 

But as time passes, when Jongho becomes eight, then nine, then ten without his visits to Yeosang diminishing in the slightest, his parents begin to get worried. They’re kind enough not to outright ban him from going to the graveyard immediately, but they do ask him why he’s visiting Yeosang so often. 

“He’s my best friend,” Jongho says simply, and the look his parents exchange immediately sets alarm bells off in his head. They aren’t going to tell him to stop seeing Yeosang, were they? They couldn’t do that- and if they tried, Jongho would gladly climb out his window every night to meet up with him.

Fortunately they don’t, but the alternative is almost worse. His parents seem to have decided something is _wrong_ with him, and suddenly he’s not allowed to mention Yeosang or talk about going to see his grave with anyone. They try their best to fill his days with extracurriculars and forcibly-arranged playdates with his living friends until he has scarcely a moment to himself not spent eating or sleeping. 

Eventually his parents send him to a “special kind of doctor” that’s just going to “talk to him a little and see how he’s doing.” Jongho isn’t stupid, of course- he knows his parents think he’s crazy, and they’re trying to see if something really is wrong with his brain. It’s almost silly, in a way; Jongho is just as healthy as he’s always been, and if talking to this doctor is what it’ll take to prove that, he’s happy to go.

The doctor -who introduces himself as Dr. Lee, a psychotherapist- seems nice enough at first. He makes simple small talk in the beginning, asking him if school is going well and how many friends he has. Jongho counts. “Seven,” he answers. Six boys in his grade at school, who he plays soccer with during lunch breaks and complains about teachers to on their way home every day, and Yeosang. 

Jongho’s learned the hard way that talking about Yeosang too much can scare people if he’s not careful, so he doesn’t mention his name until the therapist specifically asks about him. 

“His name is Yeosang,” Jongho informs him excitedly, delighted to find an adult _finally_ willing to listen about his best friend, and goes on to tell Dr. Lee everything about him; Yeosang’s incredible dry wit, the way he loves dancing, his favorite toys and books and games. The doctor listens quietly, nodding in all the right places and smiling at Jongho when he’s done. “He seems like a very nice boy,” Dr Lee tells him. 

Jongho nods eagerly. “That’s why he’s my best friend!”

The doctor then excuses himself to go talk to Jongho’s parents. He waits patiently for him to return, glad that someone will finally be able to make his parents stop worrying about him. Surely they’ll listen to an actual doctor when he says Jongho is doing perfectly well. 

Eventually, when Dr. Lee seems to be taking a while and he gets bored, Jongho pads over to the door and presses his ear to the wood to listen. 

“He never grieved properly for the loss of his friend,” he hears Dr. Lee murmur to his parents. “He’s hanging on to the fantasy of him being alive so he won’t have to face that pain.”

Jongho nearly laughs out loud. He’s not hiding from any grief- Yeosang just isn’t back yet. There’s no point in mourning someone who isn’t really dead. His best friend is just a little lost right now, and when Jongho finds him and brings him home, everything will be right again. 

His parents sign him up for weekly appointments with the doctor. Jongho learns after the third session that their end goal is to get him to stop talking to Yeosang, and subsequently refuses to talk to Dr. Lee about anything at all until his parents get sick of it and give up. So long as he keeps his grades up and spends time with his corporeal friends at least occasionally, his parents don’t care how many trips he makes to the graveyard if they don’t have to hear about it. 

By the time Jongho is sixteen, he’s known all around the neighborhood as “the weird kid who hangs out with corpses.” It’s not quite the truth, but it keeps people from asking too many questions about why he spends at least an hour every day in the graveyard, sitting next to a headstone that’s aged right alongside him. He doesn’t play with toys with Yeosang anymore, of course; rather, Jongho complains about math homework and shares with him songs he thinks he’d like. 

Yeosang ages as Jongho does, and he has a perfect image in his head of what his best friend looks like nowadays. He still can picture his delightful dry wit and snark just as he could a decade ago, and all it’s done over time has gotten better. 

The only people who know the truth behind his graveyard visits are his friends. They’re a group of seven, close-knit as it comes, and even if Jongho could keep Yeosang a secret from them, he wouldn’t want to. All of them have known each other since elementary school, and Jongho trusts them with his life- and, by extension, the other life he’s protecting. 

They took the news that Jongho is best friends with a dead boy about calmly enough, if not with the open acceptance he’d hoped for. While they were mostly confused by the concept, they seemed to recognize Yeosang made Jongho happy all the same, and one wonderful day they’d even had a picnic in the cemetery as a full group of eight. The feeling of all of his friends loving and accepting one another makes him happier than anything else, and these days Jongho feels more content than he ever has. 

“There’s a new choir club starting up, apparently,” Seonghwa tells him one day after school, sitting down next to Jongho on the bench he’s commandeered and letting his backpack fall to the ground with a _thud._ They’re waiting on the outskirts of the basketball court for Yunho to finish up his practice so the three of them can walk home together. 

(Well, Seonghwa and Yunho will be going home. Jongho is heading to visit Yeosang for the day.)

Jongho hums contemplatively. “When does it meet?” He’s never been in a choir before, but he finds a certain joy in singing absent in most other aspects of his life. His friends like to joke that he could be an idol if he wanted, but he always laughs them off- that would mean leaving Yeosang behind. 

There’s a moment of disconcerting silence. Jongho is just about to ask Seonghwa if he’s alright when he finally speaks again. “Two hours after school, three times a week.”

Oh.

“I really think you might like it,” Seonghwa begins almost pleadingly, but Jongho cuts him off. 

“I can’t, then. I’m busy-”

“Going to see Yeosang,” Seonghwa finishes. “I know.”

Jongho can feel the inevitable _but_ coming, and his face twists in poorly-concealed irritation. 

“Jongho-yah,” Seonghwa begins softly, meeting his eyes steadily. He looks almost disappointed, like Jongho has made some sort of mistake and let his friend down in the process. 

Jongho glues his gaze to the ground, brows furrowed. “Save it.” He’s heard this lecture a thousand times from every single person in his life by now except Yeosang, and he’s absolutely sick of it. Why can they not just _understand,_ or at the very least let Jongho be? He’s not hurting anyone by talking to Yeosang. He has good grades, he never gets into trouble, he even has other friends- why does it matter so much to everyone else if he visits the graveyard every day?

“He’s dead,” Seonghwa tells him gently. “You can’t let him dictate your whole life- you’ll be miserable that way.”

 _He won’t be for much longer,_ Jongho wants to say, but Seonghwa is already worried enough about him as it is. 

“I know,” he replies instead. “I promise I won’t.”

The look Seonghwa gives him is equal parts worried and profoundly sad, as if he’s watching a tragedy unfold in front of him he’s entirely unable to stop. But Jongho is no tragedy, and he certainly doesn’t need to be stopped. He stubbornly refuses to make eye contact with Seonghwa for the rest of the afternoon. 

It takes another two weeks for the moon to be full, but Jongho is nothing if not patient. He’s gathered all of the necessary supplies, memorized and recited a Latin spell until he no longer trips over even the trickiest syllables, and stolen a mirror of his mother’s to set up on his desk. If this works, he’ll be able to reach the spirit realm and find Yeosang. If it doesn’t, well- he’ll just have to keep trying. 

He lights the candles -white and vanilla-scented, because that’s what he could find- he’d placed in the shape of a pentagram on his desk, makes sure the salt line he’d sprinkled around it is complete, and shuts off his lights. The eerie orange glow of the candle flame casts strange shadows around his room and makes Jongho’s reflection look near-skeletal in the mirror, cheeks hollow and eyes dark. Still, he meets his own gaze unflinchingly and starts to chant, begging Yeosang to return from the spirit world. 

With every line he speaks the air in the room seems to grow colder, until Jongho is shivering and a sheen of condensation has formed on the mirror. He persists- the frost must mean it’s working.

Sure enough, the condensation on the mirror grows so thick the glass turns near-white, then suddenly fades back to perfect clarity to reveal Yeosang, seated in the same position as Jongho and watching him curiously, and all he can do is gape at his best friend in shock. 

He’s still just as slender as he’d been as a child, but he’s lost the baby fat in his cheeks, exposing a sharp, elegant jawline. His eyes, too, are just the same- soft and mournful, but piercing too, holding an undeniable cleverness within them. Yeosang would’ve been a genius if he’d lived to be Jongho’s age, he’s sure. 

_“You look disappointed,”_ Yeosang observes, voice too high and too low all at once, the sound faint and echoey as if he really is on the opposite side of a sheet of glass. _“Were you expecting a different ghost?”_

“I thought-” Jongho begins, then realizes how silly it was to think Yeosang would just appear in front of him in flesh and blood if he burned a few candles and said the right words. “I thought you’d be, you know, _here._ For real. _”_ Hysterical laughter bubbles up in his chest, both because Yeosang is as snarky as ever and because his best friend is really _back_ after a decade’s worth of wishing and waiting. He feels a second away from exploding from how overwhelming everything is. 

_“You’re an idiot,”_ Yeosang deadpans, but there’s an undercurrent of fondness in his voice all the same. _“I’m_ dead _. Gone. Deceased. Kicked the bucket. You can’t just bring me back to life because you miss me.”_

Tears well up in his eyes so quick it feels instantaneous, like he’s spent the last decade holding them back behind a now freshly-broken dam, and there’s nowhere for them to flow but out. Their warmth rapidly trickles down his cheeks and drips onto his hands where they sit, folded and shaking, on his desk. Shit. Jongho hates being reminded that Yeosang is dead more than anything- though he knows it logically, something about hearing the words stings, a dagger to the heart made of pure, obsidian-sharp grief. 

“I’m sorry, I just missed you so much,” he sobs, scarcely able to get the words out through his tears. “You’re really back.”

 _“I missed you too,”_ Yeosang says softly. _“But why did you do this?”_

Jongho blinks at him. “What do you mean, hyung? I needed to see you.” Why else would he be doing this? Every moment of his life since he was seven years old has been spent in preparation for the moment he could see his best friend again. It’s been his driving force, the thing that woke him up each day and helped him through his darkest hours. 

Yeosang looks at him with clear disappointment in his eyes, uncannily similar to the look Seonghwa had given him a few weeks ago, and a chill runs down Jongho’s spine. Whatever his best friend is going to say next won’t be something he wants to hear. 

_“You have a_ life, _Jong. You have friends and talent and a future. You don’t need me, and you haven’t for a long time.”_

“Yes I _do,”_ Jongho insists, rubbing at his eyes harshly. “You’re my best friend, hyung. I can’t just- forget about you.” The entirety of his very existence is devoted to Yeosang; if someone were to take that away, what would be left?

Yeosang smiles at that, soft and affectionate. _“You don’t have to. Moving on isn’t about forgetting. It’s about accepting things as they are and choosing to move forward.”_

“But I have been,” Jongho protests. “I have friends and I go to school and I- I do things! I’ve definitely moved on.”

Yeosang simply raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, and sighs. _“You’re only doing those things because other people make you. You don’t want them. You don’t want anything in life.”_

“That’s not true,” Jongho snaps, anger flaring up like a lightning strike. He’s shaking so badly he can barely move, and his whole body feels like a rubber band about to snap. There’s an awful, burning weight of something a whole lot like shame caught in his chest, cutting off his airflow and making it impossible to meet his best friend’s eyes. “I want things.”

 _“Like what?”_ Yeosang demands, irritation rising to match his. 

“I want you to come back!” Jongho shouts, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Silence. The air in the room feels frozen, colder and emptier than the vacuum of space. The only warmth left is in the half-fallen teardrops on Jongho’s cheeks.

Some sort of hidden tension drains from Yeosang’s shoulders and he sighs again, voice more exhausted than Jongho has ever heard him. “ _Jong-”_

“No. Don’t do that,” he snaps. Tears are dripping down his cheeks again and he lets them fall, too focused on spilling out his feelings to care. “I know it’s stupid, and I know it’s impossible, but _fuck,_ I just want to see you again one last time. I want to hug you. I want to play video games like you promised we would. I want my best friend back.”

 _“You can’t bring back the dead, and you can’t change the past,”_ Yeosang whispers, sounding as pained as Jongho feels. _“But you don’t need to. You have six other best friends who can take care of you far better than I ever did, if you let them.”_

“But they’re not- they’re not you,” Jongho objects weakly. 

_“They’re better,”_ Yeosang agrees. _“They can actually touch you and talk to you. And they love you more than anything.”_

Jongho can’t dispute that. His friends are the brightest part of his life, living or dead, and the fact that they love him unconditionally despite him being the weirdest kid in town is a thought that never fails to bring a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.

“What do I do, then?” Jongho begs shakily. “Where do I go without you?”

 _“Forward,”_ Yeosang tells him. _“Wherever you want to.”_

Jongho doesn’t know what he wants. Every single choice he’s made since he was seven was leading up to this, and now that it’s all been proven fruitless, he can see with crystal clarity that he has no other meaning in his life. 

_“Don’t let me tie you down. I can’t go anywhere anymore. You can.”_

“I-” Jongho begins, voice cracking on the singular syllable. 

_“Promise me,”_ Yeosang insists. _“Right now. That you won’t go on like this.”_

“I promise,” Jongho whispers, because they never break their promises to each other, no matter how hard it might be to keep them.

 _“Good. Take care of yourself, okay?”_ Yeosang smiles. _“Live. For yourself, this time.”_

Then suddenly he fades into nothing, the mirror shifting back to an ordinary, fogged-up piece of glass, and all Jongho can do is put his head in his hands and sob. His shoulders shake and he rakes his fingers through his scalp so hard it hurts, bawling ceaselessly as a decade’s worth of pain attempts to all spill out at once through nothing but tiny teardrops. 

Eventually Jongho manages to stop crying, but only because his body is so dehydrated he physically can’t summon up any more tears. The lump in this throat is still so large it hurts to swallow, and his face feels like it’s been freshly-splashed with water. His heart physically hurts in his chest, and it feels as if someone has replaced it with a too-sharp stone instead, weighing him down and stabbing into his surrounding viscera all at once. 

He takes one shaky breath, then another. Nothing has changed in the outside world- Jongho’s still in his room, sitting on his bed with the coffee stain on the comforter he forgot to wash out, with the cloying smell of vanilla smoke wafting through the air. The full moon is still high in the sky, and Yeosang is still dead. The only thing that’s shifted, and irreversibly, irrevocably so, is him. 

_Go forward,_ Yeosang had said, but Jongho has no idea how. He hasn’t gone anywhere since he was seven years old and his parents told him he’d never be seeing his best friend ever again, that he had left for the one place Jongho couldn’t follow. He’s spent so long sitting still that he’s not sure he even remembers what moving feels like. How in the world does one find a new purpose in their life overnight when they’ve just lost everything they’ve ever known?

...Maybe he’ll join that choir club Seonghwa was telling him about. 

As Jongho quietly resolves to talk to him about it tomorrow, a strange feeling of warmth blooms in his chest. He feels almost as if he’s accomplished something. Maybe he doesn’t know what direction his _forward_ will take, or how he’s going to get there, but this seems like a good first step. 

His lips twitch up in the dark unconsciously. Though his room is empty and all he has for company is the dead candles on his desk and the ghosts of tear tracks on his cheeks, Jongho feels less alone than he has in a long, long time. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm very new at writing for Ateez so I hope this is okay :))
> 
> Come say hi!  
> [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/CelSilences)  
> [ CuriousCat ](https://curiouscat.me/CelestialSilences)


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